by Steven King
Why did you lie to me Peter? And why did you and the others pick me? Oh, yeah, now I remember what you said later, after you had drugged me and brought me to that room. “The paying internet viewers we service want a strong, young male that can handle a month of continual abuse and punishment before kicking the bucket.”
Don’t you worry none, Peter. I didn’t let you down by kicking the bucket and I won’t let you kick the bucket either till the month is done.
Ahh, just like dear old Henry, aren’t you Peter, looking over your shoulder as you turn the key? So you DID hear poor old Henry went missing, kidnapped no doubt, and by Chris no doubt. You’re wondering if you’re next, aren’t you Peter, wondering if your alarms and double safety locks and bars on the windows can keep me out? Did you know you left your basement window open today Peter? Just like careless old Henry. Well, that’s me fibbing now, I’m afraid. You didn’t leave it open. I confess I did. That’s right Petey old boy. I did. I came by earlier today and jimmied it open. What about the alarm you ask? Did you know that’s what I used to do for a living? Install alarms? Don’t worry yourself none, dear Petey. Your alarm works fine on the rest of your house. It just doesn’t work any more on the basement window, that’s all.
Chapter Three
Traffic was all bumper to bumper on the way to the airport. Chris drove Peter’s car with the window down, relieved the rains of the last few days had finally dissipated into cool and crisp drier evenings that made kidnapping a tormentor much more pleasant and palatable.
Chris was careful to keep his one good eye on the taxi in front of him, clutching the wheel with twisted claws that were missing fingers and full of broken bones. His left hand sported only an index and middle finger, while his right only retained the index, middle finger and pinky. The missing thumbs were courtesy of Chris’ own desperation, but the insidious messes of what was left of both hands were courtesy of Jeffery, whom was, in all probability, also thinking of fleeing.
“I’ll save you for last torso hand man,” whispered Chris, the smiling, smirking, chuckling face of Jeffery front and centre. Chris knew the other three did what they did for money. Jeffery did it for pure pleasure. “I sentence you to far more than thirty days, you monstrous bastard. I…I…I-”
Chris shook off the thought and focused once more on Andre, the fleeing man in the taxi just ahead of him. Chris then stifled a groan at the unbearable pain rifling through his arms, from torn hands with heavy gauze bandages, bandages covering fingertips which were missing fingernails and stripped of most of their flesh.
“You realize, don’t you Andre, that thanks to Jeff, I left no fingerprints on the tools
I used on Peter last night? Not that anyone will ever find where I’ve stashed him.”
Chris chuckled loudly at the thought, his pulse racing and his foot swollen with unimaginable pain at keeping it balanced between the brake and the gas.
Planes soared overhead, their deafening approaches destined to be followed horribly by screeching tires on the runway.
Headed for the airport, are we Andre? Watsa matter, not willing to stay behind and face the music like poor old Henry and Peter? I have to face the music everyday Andre! Get it? Face the music? With the face you gave me? With the face you so cleverly designed, so methodically composed over weeks with tools that fashioned and molded and…and-”
Old Macdonald had a farm, eeeiii, eeeiii, ooohhh. His mother’s voice again, recalled from happier times, those sacred sing alongs when he was only four. Don’t worry mom, I remember the words, it’s just that Andre taught me some NEW ones.
With a snip snip here, and a snip snip there, here a snip, there a snip, everywhere a snip snip.
“The trick Chris, is to make you flinch with each snip of your ears, nose and tongue. That way, the viewing audience believes it is really getting it’s money’s worth. That’s why I use dull tools Chris, to heighten pain by prolonging each snip.”
Time for bed son, so make sure you clean behind your ears, blow your nose andbrush your teeth. His mother’s voice again.
Sorry mom. There’s not much left of my ears, nose and teeth to clean, blow or brush. Andre saw to that! Ah, Andre, master of snide remarks.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears. That was a joke Chris. You’re supposed to laugh when I chop off an ear, not scream. Now then, let’s try it again, only this time try to have more of a sense of humour.”
Mirror mirror on the wall, whose face is fucked up most of all. Mine is Andre, you snide bastard. But not for long. Not as fucked up as yours is gonna be when you join Peter and Henry later tonight. Speaking of Henry, I betchu are just furious with him for letting me escape. I betcha also just can’t wait to give that lazy, snoring fool a piece of your mind. Funny, that’s what Peter was thinkin’ too, to give Henry a piece of his mind. Well, not to worry, in about thirty days or so, when there’s nothing left of you but pieces of mind, I’ll make sure Henry gets the message.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“Hold still Chris, try not to squirm so much, and stop all that whinin’ and moanin’ and snivelin’. You know what you need Chris to settle you down? You need a box of these one hundred nails. They’re only one inch long. If I tap ‘em in half an inch deep and keep ‘em half an inch apart, your face should be able to hold all hundred.”
Old Macdonald had a farm, eeeiii, eeeiii, ooohhh. His mother’s voice again, but…but...definitely Andres tapping.
With a tap tap here and a tap tap there. Here a tap, there a tap, everywhere a tap tap.
Fly’s in the buttermilk, whatcha gonna do? Fly’s in the buttermilk whatcha gonna do? Fly’s in the buttermilk whatcha gonna do? Skip to ma lou my darling. His mothers voice again, singing him to sleep when he was only three.
I’d love to be a fly on the wall of your mind, Andre, watchin’ the panic set in so I’ll know what you’re thinkin’. You see, I know why you’re fleeing, face man. I know why you’re rushing to the airport. You GOT ‘my letter didn’t you, the letter I slipped in your door mail slot earlier today, the letter with Peter’s finger in it, and a note saying, ‘Peter won’t be giving me the finger no more!’ Did you know that Peter used to give me the finger each time I begged for mercy. Each time that hammer lowered, or that stapling gun lowered, or that cigarette lowered, or the stretch lever on that bastard rack lowered, I would scream and holler, “no more!!! For God’s sake, no more!!! No more!!!”
Then, Peter would look me straight in my one good eye and show me the finger. “Not until I’m tired,” Peter would say, his middle finger fully extended.
Well, it’s your finger now, face man. Mind you, you might not recognize it since making it flat enough to be sure it would fit through the mail slot, took some doing.
Spare the rod, spoil the child. His mother’s voice again as she rapped his knuckles at age six. “You mustn’t put these fingers in the cookie jar unless I tell you to,” she was fond of saying. I never gave Andre permission to put his fingers in my face jar mom, honest I didn’t.
You know, I had to pound that finger for a full ten minutes before it would finally flatten, all the while with Peter screaming, “no more!!! For God’s sake, no more!!!
Squish that finger nice ‘n flat. Bang away till ya hear it splat…
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Christopher,happy birthday to you. How old are you now? How old are you now? How-” His mothers voice again, celebrating his magical seventh year of life. “I’m almost twenty years older now mom. If only you could see me now, or if only you could see what’s left of me now.”
The two long winding roadways connecting the highway to Toronto International Airport were suddenly in view. One road boasted a sign declaring “Departures,” while the other touted “Arrivals.”
In mere seconds the taxi stopped in front of large glass doors where yet another sign declared �
��International Flights.”
Trying to get as far away as possible, are you face man? Trying to flee from the wrath to come? You should have thought about that before…before…before. Don’t do the crime, face man, if you can’t do the time!
You’ve paid the taxi and now you are standing in front of the large glass doors with a gym bag. A gym Bag??!! Are you fuckin’ serious??!! You must be pretty desperate to get away if all you are taking with you will fit in a gym bag. What about all your other stuff? What about that rat you used on my face? Do you have the rat at least Andre? You liked keeping it in tight places, didn’t you Andre…like…like the time when working on my face wore you completely out. But before you used the rat you would make me scream for hours while my hands and feet were bound, all so you could rearrange my face with your sordid little bag of tools. Should I let people at the airport see what you did to my face Andre??!!
Little Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffit, eating her curds and whey, when along came aspider and sat down beside her and scared little Miss Muffet away! His mothers voice again, from when he was four and learning to read on his mothers knee.
You never used a spider on me, did you face man. No, on me you used a rat…you…
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“The trick, Chris, is to keep the viewers viewing even when I am resting from working on your face. If I put this rat in this cage, and put the cage around your face, and spray your face with this cheese sauce, then the rat will nibble on your face while I’m resting, thereby keeping the pay per viewing going so they’ll stay amused while you scream at the rat nibblin’ away at what’s left of your face. You see Chris, your face’s still good for something. Whatsa matter Chris, rat’s got your tongue?”
“You’re not laughing Chris? Don’t cha get it? Cat’s got your tongue to rat’s got your tongue? It’s a play on words dumbbell? Why dontcha stop screamin’ just long enough to see the humor of it all?”
Oh that’s where you’re wrong face man, I do see the humor of it all. Only it’s you now that aren’t laughin’. I guess you never realized that Henry was the REAL dumbbell. I guess you never dreamed he would be careless enough to let me escape. Do you know it cost me my thumbs to get away face man? But it’ll cost you a lot more than your thumbs, face man.
Ahhh, just look at the mighty face man, looking over his shoulder yet again, just like Henry did before I nabbed him, and just like Peter did before I nabbed him too.
Chris suddenly exited the car, the baseball cap pulled down and his rain coat collar rolled up high to hide his scarred facial visage. In a split second he was behind Andre and the tazor pressed into his neck, sending enough voltage surging through his body to instantly incapacitate him, causing him to slump into his bruised and battered arms. In another split second Andre was flung into the car and the door slammed behind him. A handful of onlookers saw what was happening but were too stunned to do anything right away. By the time they thought about even muttering a word, two sets of handcuffs, attached to the door handle, were slapped onto his trembling wrists as the tires burned rubber while whisking Andre away.
“Bring your tools with you face man? No? Not to worry, I got plenty in the trunk.”
Chapter Four
Green. Chris moved with the masses, his baseball cap pulled down low, his raincoat collar rolled high and his head kept down. The sounds of Andre’s screams still echoed in his satisfied, fully insane mind.
He’s got a face only a mother would love. His mothers voice again, talking about some ugly, stray dog that had wondered onto their front lawn. Don’t worry mom. Andre wondered into my car but I won’t abandon him, regardless of how ugly he gets.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock.
“The trick to surviving the tap sessions,” I told Andre, only last night. “Is to try and focus on something else while each of the hundred nails are being tapped in. Also you may want to tone down your screams just a tad so you can breathe more deeply and resolutely. That might make the pain a little less severe, then again it might not.”
Pound those nails in one by one. Don’t stop swingin’ till the job is done.
“The cage fits more snugly on you than it did on me,” I also told Andre matter of factly, last night, as I went to take a nap, thoroughly exhausted from all that swinging. “This is quite a lot of tempting cheese sauce I’m spraying around your bruised and puffy lips. Sooooo, if the rat gets too fat we may have to think about loosening some of the wire bars around your swollen cheeks. Now my advice is for you to just sit nice and still. No sense agitating the rat since it’s already pissed off at
having to get in between the nails to get at the cheese. Mind you, it could use its razor sharp claws to rip it off. I should know, shouldn’t I Andre?!”
Knock knock! Who’s there? Watts! Watts who? Watts left of your face Andre!?
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock!!!
“The trick, Andre, is to realize that time is on your side. Tonight is only the first night out of thirty. You still got twenty-nine nights to go, soooooo, don’t go straining your voice all in one night. You’ll get hoarse and lose that voice. You can always talk to a rat if you lose your lips, Andre, but not if you lose your voice.”
“Can anybody hear me??!! Help!!! Help!!! Can anybody fucking bloody well hear me??!!”
“I can hear you Andre, I can hear you clear across to China, and the rat can too.”
Yellow. The masses suddenly sped up, as cars, aimed directly at them, got ready to switch their feet from the brake to the gas. Chris too moved quicker but still kept his head low. It was dark but the streetlamps did send a glow downward. No sense scaring the ladies.
Red. They all reach the sidewalk, even the last few stragglers, and feet switch from the brake to the gas. Feet people, just like Henry. Ahhh, Henry, if only you knew how absolutely, resolutely, destitutely and ever so astutely Andre wishes and wishes and wishes and bitches that you had not, I repeat NOT, let me escape. But not to
worry Andre, foot man feels the same way. And don’t forget, he’s also the penis man.
Tick tock, tick tock, somebody shoot that fuckin’ clock!!!
If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. His mothers voice again. Don’t worry mom. I keep trying over and over again to make them pay. I’ll extract that pound of flesh if it’s the last thing I ever do. Although, come to think of it mom, I think I got more than a pound already. Much more. But then whose counting, right penis man?
Waste not, want not. His mothers voice again, from a time when he would not eat his veggies.
“The trick, Henry, is to slice off only a centimeter at a time. If you make those cuttings razor thin then you will get a lot more cuts. After all, penis man, butchers don’t cut you any extra meat. Why should I? You get what you pay for. Logic, Henry, just logic.”
The breeze was coming in from either the east or the west. Chris was miffed he could not discern from which side.
The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou heareth the sound thereof but thoucanst not tell from whence it cometh. His mothers voice again, reading from the word of God. Don’t worry mom. Jeffery doesn’t know from which way the swirling wind is blowing either. Heck he doesn’t even know from which direction I’m following him.
“You don’t know if I’m following you torso man? Winds of madness are too!”
As much as Chris hated the other three tormentors, he hated Jeffery far more.
“I think I hate you most of all,” he confirmed with a dull whisper, watching with his one good eye as Jeffery suddenly crossed the street and began doubling back. The move puzzled Chris. This was the tenth time Jeffery seemed to be walking in circles without actually going anywhere. Why would torso man be walking back and forth without actually going anywhere? Unless…unless…
Panic suddenly set in to a fully insane mind attached to a hideously tortured body. Jeffery must be up to something! If he surmised Ch
ris had taken Henry and Peter and Andre, then…then…oh shit!!! That would mean that the only possible reason Jeffery was aimlessly walking about, was to entrap Chris, perhaps have spotters along the street to see if they could spot Chris following him. That would seem logical since Jeffery did, of course have a diabolical mind that left nothing to chance.
Chris suddenly felt something poke into his ribs.
“Don’t turn around you ugly son of a bitch.”
“Who are-”
“Shut up and just keep walking. Move towards that red van.”
Chris could see Jeffery out of the corner of his one eye, laughing that he had outsmarted the captor of his three friends and no doubt breathed a sigh of relief.
Once inside, Chris found himself in the back seat, sandwiched between two
heavy set, mean looking characters straight out of some organized crime movie.
A third man sat up front, behind the wheel and started driving off.
“We’re kidnapping you on behalf of your old friend Jeffery. He claims you more than likely kidnapped his three missing friends and he was afraid you were gonna do the same thing to him.”
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. His mothers voice again, reassuring him he had done the right thing.
“He’s not my friend, and any friend of Jeffery’s is not a friend of mine either.”
“You talk funny kid.”
Chris turned and sarcastically stuck out what was left of his twisted, torn, tattered tongue.
“You’re real ugly kid and you smell real bad too. Betcha want us to put you out of your misery, don’t ya? Tell ya what, we’re gonna be real nice and on behalf of Jeffery, who’s paying us a lot of dough, we’re gonna do just that and ice your sorry ass. We’ll be planting a few bullets in your brain instead of tulips and then you’ll be fish bait, but we won’t be tossing you in any river. Nawww, your too ugly. You might scare the fish. Nawww, we’ll be putting you in the meat grinder instead.”
